Going Under
by aliensexual
Summary: Ciel Phantomhive goes to see Dr. Michaelis about troubling dreams and ends up getting more help than he imagined.


**Warning: sub!Ciel/dom!Sebastian, BDSM, binding, anxiety attacks, night terrors, plugging, flogging, breathplay, rough sex, pushed boundaries, rape/assault play, slapping, and choking.**

**The crux of this story is a rape role play, explicitly as stated. The role play is consensual but be aware that it is played out in full detail, including physical and verbal assault, the presence/threat of a weapon, slut shaming, homophobic language, and forced penetration. Happy ending, of course, because my boys always work it out and satisfy each other's needs (soul mates even when it's super kinky!), but the content is harsh and the journey rough so please do not expect anything less.**

* * *

><p>"It ends the same way every time," Ciel answers, soft and embarrassed, hands twisted into each other, eyes on the table between him and Dr. Michaelis. "But the way it begins differs from dream to dream."<p>

"Why don't you tell me about the dream you had last night, then?"

"Um, okay. I, uh. I was in a car in a parking lot outside of some kind of mall or shopping center or something. And he was just a random asshole. Some kind of-I dunno, thug kind of guy, mean, you know. White. Twenties, maybe? Nondescript baggy clothes. And he was teasing me, taunting me, moving around the outside of the car, knocking on the glass, trying the door handles. I don't recall the words he used; I just remember being scared out of my mind. Wanting him to leave me alone. Not trusting the door and window locks to hold."

"Was fear the only emotion you felt?" Dr. Michaelis asks.

Ciel hesitates, feeling his cheeks warm. "No. Also excited. Like-the way that fear sometimes feels a little exciting? Like, adrenaline, I guess?" He wets his lips.

"Um. And then-well, like in dreams-I was suddenly outside on the street. Dark, rainy, abandoned. Not sure how I got there. Lost, alone. And he found me. Pursued me. No one around, and I knew I couldn't get away. That's how it always is." He rubs his fingers together, left through right, right through left, obviously shaken. "Uh. But then it-like all the other times, it ends the same."

"And how is that, Ciel?" The doctor's expression betrays nothing but attentiveness.

"He um, he calls me names. To start. All kinds of slurs-slut, whore, fag. I mean, stuff that's specific to me but also stuff that's not? And-I've heard it all before. But when he says it I-I mean the whole time he's chasing me and shouting at me he's saying these things, and I-I'm just as turned on as I am scared. I don't understand it, I just-I should be disgusted by it, and I am, but only part of me is?"

"It's alright. You're safe here. Just keep talking to me, okay? I want to hear everything."

"Like every time, eventually, he catches me. It's inevitable. I'm never going to get away from him. And-it's almost reassuring? Knowing that. And when he catches me it's a relief, like I can stop fighting it, like no matter what he does to me it's better than when he's chasing me and I know I can't escape him but I still keep trying anyway. He, um."

"Go on." Dr. Michaelis nods.

"He pushes me down onto my hands and knees. Calling me names. Taunting me with how he knows how much I'm going to love this. That I need it, deserve it, that it's all I'm good for. A part of me is almost-flattered by the things he says. I don't know why. He doesn't um, doesn't bother with anything gentle or-prepare me, he just-pushes my pants and underwear down. He opens his pants and he's-hard already, and I can feel him against my naked skin, and-I'm just as revolted as I am aroused. I can feel it, the nausea right alongside the thrill, my skin burning and crawling all at once. He doesn't put a condom on, and that makes me-so hard for him, I don't know why. He could have any number of diseases. He spits-he spits and that's all, just spit and my sweat, I know that wouldn't be anything but painful in real life, but in the dream it works-it's more than enough, actually; usually I feel wet. And he pushes into me, one thrust, that's all, he doesn't-he doesn't wait to see if I'm okay. He just fucks me. He puts his hands-one in my hair and one on my shoulder and he fucks me, like I was an inanimate object just there for his pleasure." Ciel is breathing heavily and shifting around by now, unable to look up. "Just kneeling there, feeling my body shake with his thrusts, it feels-like the ultimate release."

When he doesn't continue, Dr. Michaelis stops to scribble some notes and then looks back up at him, expression no different than before. "Is there anything else, or does the dream end there?"

"It ended there last night. But uh, usually he-knowing that he's going to come in me, bare, like that, cues another long string of panic and arousal. I can feel him sweating and panting and ramming into me, and it-feels so good. And I know he's going to shoot in me and I know it's wrong but I have no control, I mean that's the overall theme here is that I literally cannot stop him from doing what he's doing, even though logically in the real world I would be able to fight him, to do something. But in the dream that's not even a possibility. So he-he comes in me, and I-love it and hate it at the same time, and it feels-I feel used and empty when it's over, but I also feel right, like-he was right about me?" Ciel twitches and stares at his hands in his lap. "I like when he calls me names, I like how he pushes me down, I like that he doesn't care about my pleasure, just his own, even though I do-take pleasure out of what he's doing. All of this is normal and safe when I dream, but not something that I can imagine enduring or enjoying in real life."

"Does he ever stay with you, or talk to you, when it's over?"

Ciel blinks, looking surprised. He's never thought of that before. "No," he answers. "No, it always ends right then and there. Is that important?"

"It could be," the doctor answers, smiling encouragingly.

"Look, am I-is something wrong with me, I mean, I've been talking for a half an hour and you haven't said anything."

"This is all about you, Ciel," Dr. Michaelis answers, his scarlet eyes latching onto Ciel's. "I just want to make sure that you have time to recall anything and everything." He shifts his pad and pen, then looks up again. "Is there anything else before I talk a little?"

"Um, no, that's-that's the gist of it."

"Okay." He smiles. "There's nothing wrong with you, Ciel. What you're experiencing is a rape fantasy, which-seemed strange at first, I'm sure, especially since you've never actually experienced sexual abuse of any kind. But it's actually a very common phenomena. You told me that you're a-" He glances at his pad. "-an editor for a magazine? Is it a stressful job?"

"Yes, especially this time of year," Ciel answers.

"Okay. So you work in a fast-paced, stressful environment," he says, pausing to check his notes, "and you're in a managerial position that comes with a lot of responsibility." He steeples his hands. "Rape fantasy often manifests as a coping mechanism. It's not that you want to be raped; it's that you want to let someone else take control because you're overwhelmed by having to be in control all day long. The removal of choice in these dreams concurrent with the expression of sexual release-even though you are being raped in the dream, you are also experiencing sexual pleasure at the same time-is an expression of your need to let go of stress and indulge pent-up desire that you aren't currently allowing yourself to let go of or enjoy. Perhaps you have trouble relaxing when you go home? Perhaps you don't allow yourself to decompress on the weekends? Constantly checking email, voicemail, texts, talking to your subordinates and reporting to your superiors? Always thinking of work tasks and schedules, even when you don't have to?"

Ciel bites his lip. "That's-fairly accurate."

"When was the last time you had sex or any kind of sexual intimacy with another person?" he asks.

"It's been a while. With work I just haven't had time to date."

Dr. Michaelis nods. "My general advice, Ciel, is to allow yourself to take time off of work. I don't mean vacation, because that is your choice and obviously not everyone can just decide to take time off of work. But-go home at the end of the day on time. Turn off your phone and your computer. Plan activities that are about taking care of yourself. A bath. A television show you've been meaning to catch up on. A good meal. Maybe see a movie, or spend time with a friend or family member. Take your mind off of work for however long you can, when you can. Give yourself the time you deserve to step back from stressful things."

"No dating advice for me, doc?" Ciel asks, smiling-he's a little less embarrassed now, and he can't help the cheeky remark. He's still nervous, and that's what he does when he's nervous.

Dr. Michaelis smiles, and there's a sparkle in his eye that's not entirely impersonal. "That, I'm afraid, is up to you. Though I will say it is a very good idea." He glances away, licking his bottom lip. "Come see me in two weeks, and if that hasn't improved anything we'll discuss possibly putting you on a mild sleep aid. Keep track of what you do to relax, of what works and what doesn't, so we can discuss it next time."

Ciel nods. He feels-better, but also agitated, which he expects is normal. "I will. Thank you, Doctor Michaelis."

They shake hands, smile at each other. And then his hour is up.

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><p>The treatment works like charm; Ciel takes Dr. Michaelis's advice and makes time for himself in between crazy work schedule swings and the stressful dreams of battery and abuse fade over the course of several months. He sees the doctor only two or three times after that, each visit shorter than the last, and despite the fact that Ciel has developed a little crush on his handsome, helpful care provider, it all seems to go according to plan and their time together ends naturally.<p>

The Summer season approaches and Ciel is able to approach his projects with a fresh eye and a clear mind, though he often thinks of Dr. Michaelis late at night when his mind is buzzing with an idea for a new design or of a solution to an old problem, full of simple gratitude and a not so simple attraction.

It seems clichéd enough to run with indulgently, his little doctor's office fantasies; all of that leather and warm, dark, masculine mahogany, Dr. Michaelis's scarlet eyes and black locks of hair, a come hither smile. The perfect fantasy to put him to sleep at night or while away a slow afternoon with.

He admits to it when he gets his drink on with the girls from down the hall, and they giggle and tease him and he blushes and rolls his eyes, because they get it but won't let it pass without ribbing him for it.

"You should've asked him out," one of them says.

"Oh god, like they're ever gay. It's not that easy," he replies. "Besides, I was his patient. So trashy."

Out of all the karaoke bars in town, Ciel and his friends wind up choosing the same one as Dr. Michaelis and his friends on one warm June evening. It's a Friday. Ciel's tipsy and Dr. Michaelis has just finished belting out a song.

Being a little drunk, Ciel blurts immediately upon recognizing him, "Oh my god it's him."

It takes a few back and forth comments before one of his friends replies with, "The doctor?"

He nods before he realizes what a terrible idea confirming this information is, and before he knows it he's being shoved toward the bar by three sets of hands, and Dr. Michaelis's eyes are swinging up to his.

"Ciel!" he gasps, mouth twitching wide with a grin. "How are you, geez, what a coincidence."

"Dr. Michaelis, I presume." Ciel smiles brightly and they shake hands.

"Please, call me Sebastian. I'm not your doctor anymore."

It's awkward until Ciel signals the bartender to refill whatever Sebastian is drinking on him, and then they're having a perfectly normal-if slightly drunk-conversation about the bar, and how they both once dreamed of being performers, and how Ciel has been since he stopped his appointments.

Sebastian is sickeningly charming.

By the end of the night they're sitting close enough so that their knees are slotted between each other's and their elbows almost touching on the bar top. Ciel has laughed so much and for so long that his sides hurt, and Sebastian is even drunker than he is.

Everything is light and fractured and fuzzy, perfect in the way that drunken conversation with an almost stranger can be.

Ciel tips his head onto an upturned palm. He's just about to do something very silly like ask for Sebastian's number or if he'd like to sing something with him on stage when Sebastian glances at his cellphone and announces, "Oh, god, it's late. I don't mean to rush out on you but I really have to get home. I was supposed to leave hours ago."

Does he have a boyfriend to get home to? A husband? A wife? A cat?

"Damn, sorry, I didn't mean to keep you." He feels silly-of course Sebastian wants to leave. Ciel has kept him for hours and he probably hadn't intended to linger so long with an ex-patient. "No need to tell me to look for your bill in the mail. I'm already prepared."

Sebastian laughs, shrugging into a light jacket and tossing a few bills on the bar, more than enough to cover both of their drink tabs for the evening. "I wouldn't go that far, Ciel," he says, smiling.

"I'll see you here another time maybe?" Ciel asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. He wants to give Sebastian an opening but he isn't quite comfortable enough to ask outright. He could be completely wrong about the chemistry between them.

There's a very strange beat of hesitation, Sebastian's beautiful eyes going distant for a moment, but then he seems to steel himself against some internal struggle and blurts out, "I'd like that. Actually, uh. Why don't I call you to arrange it in advance so we can pick a song that won't embarrass us on stage?" he asks, smiling sweet and slow.

"Excellent idea," Ciel replies, relief written across his features.

They exchange numbers.

The karaoke thing never seems to happen, which Ciel finds ironic. Other things happen, though; things like lunch and coffee and movies and farmer's market trips. They don't talk much about their work or whether or not these get togethers are dates, and Ciel doesn't want to rush the arrival of that conversation; Sebastian is just nice, not that much older than him and completely unpretentious.

And gorgeous. It's difficult to forget that part.

Eventually they do bring their two groups of friends together for alcohol-related socializing, but it always seems as if they end up in their own little world, chatting about their past or their likes and dislikes with rampant hand gestures and high-pitched laughter.

Ciel gets the knowing eye roll from his friends; Sebastian gets the nudge to the side.

It's as if everyone else is more invested in the progress of their budding relationship than they are, which neither of them want to talk about. They're just having so much fun getting to know each other, surprised by the vast amount of things they have in common, including learning that they grew up not far from each other and somehow managed to never meet despite competing with each other at show choir competitions.

It isn't until Ciel watches Sebastian go off to dance with another guy one evening that he realizes that maybe they haven't been specific enough with each other.

It's not that Ciel has assumed any possession over Sebastian; it's that he hasn't unassumed any either, and seeing Sebastian openly act on that freedom unsettles him in a way that he hadn't been prepared for.

But it's more than that.

The guy is nothing special. Rather, it's the way that Sebastian holds him by the back of his neck and grinds into him that sends something warm and wanting through Ciel's body. Sebastian is probably the least intimidating person he's ever met, but the way that his whole body seems to be completely controlling his dance partner with nothing more than the press of a hand at the back of his neck is enthralling.

It's hot in the bar and Ciel clutches his sweating cocktail to his collarbone, letting the dripping condensation and cold bite take the edge off. His cheeks burn as he watches the shorter man that Sebastian is dancing with go loose and low against Sebastian's body, knee nudging gently between Sebastian's thighs.

It doesn't get dirty but it's not innocent either, and by the time that Sebastian comes back to him Ciel has downed three drinks in quick succession. The image won't stop replaying in his head; Sebastian's fingers curling around the back of the other man's neck, tugging him down and in and keeping him there. Never letting go, never even allowing it as a possibility, a thing that the other man had seemed all too willing to allow.

Ciel swallows thickly.

"Hey, sorry," Sebastian says, dabbing sweat off of his face and neck with a napkin.

"Not a problem," Ciel answers. "He was cute. Get his number?" He knows his voice is a little stiff; it's impossible to remain completely unaffected.

Sebastian laughs, shakes his head; his cheeks are flushed, pieces of hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. He pushes the wayward strands back. If he's aware of Ciel's jealousy he doesn't show it. "I'm not really-that's about as far as that usually goes for me, I mean."

"Oh," Ciel replies, a hopeful note in his voice.

"Besides," Sebastian goes on, nonplussed, "I've been with you all night and haven't danced with you. Where are my manners? I should've asked you first."

"I don't dance, as a rule," Ciel answers, flustered. Flattered, despite better judgment.

"Any particular reason?"

"The guys in here get kind of grabby," he answers. "It's not what I'm looking for."

"So we feel the same way, then," Sebastian says, smiling.

"I guess so."

"In that case, would you like to dance with me, Ciel, in a non-groping fashion?"

He bats his eyelashes as he says this, a little sly and a lot adorable.

Ciel laughs, taking his outstretched hand.

After that, Ciel abandons the quiet search for signs between them that things are progressing toward romance. It doesn't feel necessary, as so much of their friendship provides him with the sweet, affectionate interaction that he always looks for in a boyfriend, without all the messy sexual boundary crossing and awkwardness of morning after nudity.

Ciel has never had much luck with sex; the best experiences he's had have been perfunctory and fast, the worst have left him feeling vaguely unsatisfied and dirty all over. Whoever said that sex is easier between two men because they can just get off and part ways was a dirty rotten liar. It's been neither easy nor simple for him, and certainly never great. Frankly, he doesn't get what the big deal is, and he often wonders if there's something wrong with him.

He gets the side eye from his friends for not jumping on the chance to bag a doctor, but really that had never meant anything and they all know it. And despite the fact that Sebastian essentially knows Ciel's darkest, most shocking secret, which should make relating easier, they have never discussed it. They've never discussed a single thing that came up during Ciel's sessions, and for that he is grateful. He'd rather they put that behind them than use it as a way to try to find intimacy with each other.

Sometimes he even forgets that Dr. Michaelis is Sebastian and vice versa. It's an odd detail to go missing along the way, but it helps their friendship along, so who is he to complain?

Sebastian doesn't announce his birthday until it's over, which Ciel gives him no end of crap about until he relents and agrees to a dinner at their favorite restaurant. They top off the evening with the consumption of several bottles of wine, then stagger out of the place at closing time clutching each other and waking up probably every resident in the adjoining buildings with loud singing.

They sing all the way to the nearest busy corner, in fact, and Sebastian, clutching Ciel around the waist, face buried in Ciel's neck, hails them a cab.

Ciel's apartment is closer so he is the first to get dropped off, so drunk that he's hardly aware of how clingy Sebastian is being. He gently untangles them, petting Sebastian's face and hair in a gesture of adjustment that's more paternal than anything else, and Sebastian giggles, biting at Ciel's searching fingers.

"This was more fun than my actual birthday party," he admits.

"Oh?"

"Way too many PhD-types," he adds, clinging to Ciel's arms.

"Hey?"

"Yeah?"

"I have to leave the cab now."

Sebastian giggles. The cabbie is staring at them through the rear view mirror.

"Okay. I love you. You're the best. Good night."

Ciel laughs, shaking his head as he walks backward onto the curb. "Good night, birthday boy."

His phone rings about an hour later, which freaks him out for several reasons: one, he's just about to pass out after a very haphazardly executed shower and two, there is no reason to get a call this late unless someone has died or is in jail. With his family and group of friends, both of these scenarios are highly likely.

Or unless someone is still drunk and feeling the birthday spirit, he thinks, as he looks at his phone and Sebastian's face is the first thing he sees. God, he's exhausted. He hopes this will be quick, no matter how much he adores Sebastian.

He sprawls out and answers the call.

"Birthday time is over, dear," he croons. "I needs sleep. Okay?"

"I shouldn't've let you go home," comes Sebastian's gently slurred voice.

Oh dear. Is he a morose holiday drinker? Is this going to be the first of many similar late night calls? Will New Year's Eve be an absolute fiasco?

"I'm fine," Ciel answers. His voice is a gravely mess. "I mean I feel like yesterday's reheated kebabs, but fine otherwise. You should pass out. I'm about to. I'm sure that it's going to be glorious."

"I didn't want to let you go home," Sebastian answers.

Ciel realizes for the first time that his tone is absolutely dark, smooth and sinful and full of hitches.

"Sebastian? Are you okay? Do you need me to-call someone, or...?"

"Do you ever just let-let people take care of you, Ciel? You're always so on. So prepared, so flawless, so guarded, closed up tight and-even when you have fun you never really let go."

Ciel flushes. His pulse jumps, ugly and insulted, against his throat. This is definitely not what he signed up for tonight and he can't help the vague defensive anger that's rising in response.

He doesn't let anyone talk to him like this, no matter how adorable they are.

"What are you getting at?" he asks, his tone not hiding how he feels.

"Sometimes I just want to crawl inside of your head and see what's going on," Sebastian growls, low and dangerous.

The flush spills down the back of Ciel's neck. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know where this is going, and that bothers him more than anything else.

"Not supposed to talk about our sessions," Sebastian goes on, oblivious. "But I feel like that's the only part of you I really get. The part of you that needed release so badly that you dreamed up someone forcing you-"

Ciel bites his lip. This is not something he wants to talk about. Not now, not like this, and maybe not at all.

He's embarrassed to admit that even though he isn't actively dreaming of being raped anymore, the memory of those dreams is the only thing that gets him off decently and consistently and he doesn't understand precisely why.

Sebastian's voice is shakier, his breath coming in ragged pants, making the phone blow up with static and noise. "I'm not making-fun of you." He pauses, and Ciel can hear a rustle. "I'm-you drive me crazy. Your body. Your mind. Your heart."

_Oh, god. Oh god._

"Sebastian." He takes a breath, trying to settle on the best way to stop this before it goes too far. "You're drunk. No matter what-what you feel right now, this isn't the time to be discussing it."

"Not just that," Sebastian answers, and he actually groans once before he goes on. "Baby, you have no idea-ever since that first session-I almost didn't make it to the end. I felt so guilty. You have no idea how badly I-I almost quit."

"What-what are you talking about?" Fear coils in Ciel's belly. Drunken confessions of attraction, even affection, he can deal with; combining that with discussing the circumstances under which they met unsettles him.

"I liked it, Ciel," Sebastian breathes brokenly. "It turned me on, the thought of you allowing someone to push you on your knees and fuck you. The thought of all your composure and confidence and armor just wrecked by someone making you take it. Giving you what you needed, even cloaked in a rape invented by your own mind, even then, I-barely made it until you left, jerked off at my desk without even unzipping my pants, hadn't come that hard in years."

Ciel realizes that he's shaking. Reliving the fantasy doesn't disgust him anymore-it's his own mind conjuring these ideas, after all, and not as the result of abuse or actual forced experience; it's just the way that his brain had manifested the need to de-stress his life. What Sebastian taught him was that he needed to take the reigns of his own day to day and manage himself better. It had been a good lesson. It had worked.

But he's been getting off on the memory those dreams ever since; that he can't deny.

"Are-are you-right now, Sebastian?" He can't even say the words, he's so overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian gasps, and yes, he is, Ciel can hear the rhythmic shuffle clearly now.

"I wanted-I don't want that for you, not that, of course not, I-I wanted to-take that back for you, rename it, reshape it, I-" He breaks off for a long time, and then comes back into the hot, heavy silence, whimpering, "Wanted to make it about reclaiming your own power, about letting someone guide you back to that place, where even the fantasy of being forced could make you-strong. Realize that it was never about rape, that the part of you that wanted it was just as valid as any other part of you, that needing someone to take control is okay, it doesn't have to be forced, it doesn't have to hurt you or infect you or weaken you, it can just be-about embracing yourself through submission. It can be loving. It can be everything. I wanted to be that person, wanted it so badly that it hurt."

Ciel's mind is a blank throb of arousal. He's stiff in his briefs, overheating under the covers and breathing heavily, but the feeling is distant and more to do with Sebastian obviously masturbating over the phone than anything else. Mostly he just feels paralyzed and overwhelmed by the information that Sebastian is feeding him, and powerfully excited by the fact that there's more to this than he originally thought.

All of the sudden their entire friendship feels as if it's been nothing but a preamble to what they're doing right now. The scariest part of all is that it doesn't feel wrong. It feels right.

"I don't-I mean, I understand what you're saying, but I don't-what do you want me to do?" He can cope with a lot of things, but not knowing which action to take leaves him breathless.

There's another long pause and then Sebastian exhales, "If you ask me that now-"

The fact that this is over the phone makes Ciel bold. If he doesn't like it, he can just hang up. "Tell me," he says, eyes sliding shut, hips settling on the bed. The excitement is overcoming the fear, and the attention paid to his own arousal increases as a result. "Tell me what to do, please."

"God," Sebastian gasps. "Tell me the things you didn't, when you spoke about your dreams in my office. The details you were ashamed of. I want to know."

Ciel inhales sharply.

The sensation that lashes down his body at that leaves him breathless. Sebastian is right; there had been many things that he'd left out or only briefly described because it had been embarrassing. But the most embarrassing thing of all is something he'd never even alluded to.

"The sex-the rape in the dream-" He inhales again, hips churning just once before he forces them to still. His cock is wet at the tip, damp against his underwear. "It's the best sex I've ever had." His eyes fill with tears. "I'm not a virgin, but I don't think I've ever enjoyed sex with another person as much as I enjoyed getting off to those fantasies."

"Oh, god," Sebastian whines. "It's okay. It's okay. There is nothing wrong with you."

"Sebastian," Ciel whimpers, feeling his cock throb on his belly. "What are we doing?"

"Tell me more."

"I-I liked the fear of being pursued against my will. Because I think I always knew it wasn't really-against my will. I could just-the illusion was there, strong enough that it might as well have been real. I liked that, I felt protected by it. I liked the way his taunting made me feel dirty and used because all of that led up to being taken and I wanted that so badly-the filthy stuff, it got me off, it got me off so hard-"

"Keep talking. Please. Ciel-"

He wants to touch himself, but something in the tone of Sebastian's voice keeps him from doing it. "All I wanted in the dream was to be fucked until it hurt. I wanted him to make me feel so I wouldn't have to let myself feel. Because-I don't know if I knew how to feel. To let myself. To let someone in. To trust someone enough to do that to my body. I just wanted it. His dick in me. His come in me. His hands on my skin. He wouldn't let me hide. He would make me enjoy it. I could enjoy it because he took away my power to resist." He licks his lips to wet them, unable to stop his pelvis from rocking now. He rubs his cock against the cinch of his underwear, breathing heavily. "Sebastian. Sebastian, I'm so hard."

"So proud of you, telling me all this," Sebastian answers, sounding so much more sober than he had twenty minutes ago. "So fucking proud of you, trusting me like this."

Ciel whimpers; the praise makes his cock pulse, and he can feel the wet spot at the front of his underwear grow wetter. "Scared. I'm-a little-I've never done anything like this."

"I'm here," Sebastian whispers.

"No matter what I just wanted him to use my body," Ciel goes on, writhing on the bed now, skin feverish and pulse racing. "So much of what I do during the day is verbal, and for once I just wanted my body to be all there was. I wanted a man to know that without me needing to tell him; it's why I never talk much in the dream. Sometimes I whimper and beg for him to stop, but most of the time I just cry, and I'm never sure whether it's because of fear or relief or both."

"So good, so good for me," Sebastian pants. Ciel can tell that he's close to losing it.

"Please," Ciel begs, "please, I want to touch myself."

"Oh my god you haven't been-"

"N-no, I-you didn't say."

"Oh god," Sebastian sobs, and Ciel hears him go over the edge, lose all of his control at nothing more than the implication that Ciel had been holding back for him out of instinct. When it's over and he's gasping for air, Ciel lets one hand down along his stomach.

"Sebastian?"

"So fucking perfect," Sebastian whispers. "Want you to come for me, put your hand between your legs, it's okay. Don't think about it. Just touch. Want you to think of me every time you get off to that fantasy, want you to remember my voice, okay?"

The permission makes everything very clear; Ciel grasps the swollen shaft of his cock with a whimper, spreading his legs on the bed. It only takes a dozen or so pulls before he's spurting wet over his fingers, one finger hastily pressed up inside of himself, the memory of Sebastian's orgasm over the phone the only thing on his mind when it happens, followed by a relief so pure that it makes white pop behind his eyelids.

He blacks out for about ten seconds, and when he comes to Sebastian is whispering nonsense in his ear.

"I'm okay," he answers, unsure of the question but very sure of his state of being. "It's okay. I'm-okay."

"I'm going to stay on the line until you fall asleep, okay? Just put the phone to your ear."

Ciel is feeling fuzzy already, so it's not a chore to do as he's asked, eyelids dipping.

He falls asleep to the soft hum of Sebastian singing to him and doesn't dream.

He wakes up itchy, covered in dried come with his cellphone almost dead on the pillow beside his cheek.

He's not sure whether to blame the wine or what had happened between he and Sebastian for the hangover, but he thanks a god he doesn't believe in for Saturdays and spends most of the morning sucking black coffee, ignoring texts from his friends, and half-drowning himself in the bathtub until he feels like something that was once human again.

He isn't quite sure what to do.

What if Sebastian forgets the entire conversation? Worse: what if he remembers it?

Ciel doesn't even fully understand what kind of exchange it had been. It wasn't just sexual. It wasn't just a power play. It was both, and neither, and in the light of day he's just so confused.

He works out a little at home, takes another shower, marathons a few episodes of House Hunters, and just as he's getting ready to go out for some painless window shopping, someone knocks on his door.

It's Sebastian, standing there in slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie, and looking as if the world had been officially declared flat sometime in the middle of the night.

"We swapped scarves in the taxi," he says, cheeks pink.

Ciel is wearing boxers and a t-shirt and his hair is standing up in ten different directions. He inhales, and then exhales, "Hi."

They stare at each other, the air between them snapping with sudden tension.

Sebastian's eyes drift lightly over Ciel's attire-or lack thereof-and land finally on his flushed face. "I wasn't dreaming."

Ciel's mouth tries to smile and frown at the same time. "No. No, you weren't."

Sebastian shudders and his eyelids dip. "Ciel, I-if I've ruined our friendship with this-"

And that is just too much.

Something inside of Ciel snaps. He closes the distance between them, puts his hands on either side of Sebastian's jaw and kisses him, swallowing the shocked exhale that spills between their lips.

Sebastian groans, wraps his hands around Ciel's shoulder blades and drags him close. Despite the slight height difference in his favor Ciel feels so small against Sebastian, and begins to shake as the kiss drags on too long. He pulls away with rough twist, eyelids fluttering shut.

"I don't understand, not-everything," he says, breathing warm over Sebastian's slack, wet mouth. "But I want you. I've wanted you since the day you pointedly did not give me dating advice."

Sebastian laughs, overwhelmed and giddy. "God, me too. Last night-last night was good, for you? It's what you wanted?"

"Needed," Ciel answers. "What I needed."

"I have a one o'clock appointment slot free today," Sebastian says, clutching his waist. "Come see me?"

Blushing, Ciel agrees.

It's not as if he's a patient, and Sebastian's practice is private, but he still feels weird sliding past the receptionist who's going off duty as he arrives. He's not sure what to expect, but nothing inside of Sebastian's office is different-desk, chairs, couch, plants, books, degrees, all the same.

Sebastian is sitting on the edge of his desk wearing the same clothes he'd had on this morning, only his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his hair isn't quite as controlled (humidity is cruel, as they both know).

Ciel doesn't know exactly what kind of actions are called for in these situations. He has terrible fears of Sebastian asking him to do something ridiculous like kneel or take all his clothes off or call him Master, none of which Ciel is comfortable with the idea of right now.

They stand there, staring at each other as if the distance between them is the only thing keeping them from rushing at each other. Just looking at Sebastian is enough to make Ciel's body ache for more contact.

"I remember every word I said last night," Sebastian says, by way of greeting. "I want you to know that."

"I do too," he answers, voice very high-pitched. He clears his throat, shaking hands clasped in front of his body.

Sebastian continues to stare. "I've wanted you for so long. And not just in the way I had you last night. I-I love everything about you." He steps closer. "With those sessions between us, I thought I'd never be able to admit-I thought you'd be so disgusted by my reaction that you'd never want to speak to me again, much less-"

Ciel chews his bottom lip to keep the noise from rising in his throat. Sebastian is so very wrong about that that it's almost painful.

The more Sebastian speaks, the more unstable Ciel feels, as if what he's saying isn't necessary, and the tension between them is making Ciel want to shout or sing or sit down and close his eyes before he does either of those things. He doesn't want to talk about it like this, and not out of a desire to avoid it; this just isn't the way he needs to approach the topic.

"Don't," he says, finally, raising a hand. "I-we don't have to talk about it. I think-I think we're both very much on the same page. At least right now."

Sebastian nods, eyes burning into Ciel's as he gently backs Ciel up against the door and kisses him. "God, Ciel, I just want-so much." He kisses him again, and again, drawing sweet little sighs from his mouth and carefully lifting his arms by the wrist and pinning them above his head.

Ciel whimpers, opening his mouth hungrily. The feel of Sebastian's hard fingers pinning his wrists shoots through him like a direct stroke along his cock; he's never felt that kind of immediacy from foreplay before and it takes him by surprise.

They make out against the door until they can't breathe evenly and then Ciel pulls back, allowing Sebastian's mouth to blaze a trail down his throat instead, still holding his wrists in place. He's warm beneath his clothes and wriggling just a little, eyes rolled back into his head.

Making out has never felt like this before.

When Sebastian comes back up and begins sucking and nuzzling below Ciel's ear, Ciel breathes out before he can even stop the word, "Please."

"Are you sure? I don't want to rush-"

"Until we-do that, I won't be able to stop thinking about it. I need to know you like that, I need you, right now, and then later, later we can-"

Sebastian, panting, pushes Ciel a little harder against the door. "Shh. I understand. How...?"

"Fuck me on the couch," he answers, staring over at the leather recliner where he'd shared so much of himself with Dr. Michaelis. "I don't-I don't want you to be gentle or go slow."

"I know," Sebastian answers, voice rough. "Go kneel for me, hands on the headrest."

Ciel shivers. He shakes the entire time that it takes for him to arrange himself, still clothed, on the springy leather cushions. If this is anything like the way he wants it, the way he'd confessed it to Sebastian, they won't be doing much talking. He feels dizzy. His entire body is vibrating in tune with the execution of Sebastian's command, and the focus feels amazing. It's like being drunk, almost.

"Close your eyes," Sebastian says from across the room. "Don't move your hands from the headrest. Good." Rustling, and the squeak of the couch as Sebastian kneels behind him. Ciel can hear him undo his belt, can smell and hear the creak of the leather and the zing of the zipper.

God, the way that feels, Sebastian's warmth and solidity behind him, the press of cloth all up and down his back and thighs; he's already trembling and Sebastian hasn't even touched him.

"Please," he murmurs.

Sebastian's fingers pluck his jeans open. He whimpers. "Already hard for me?"

Ciel nods. "Good boy. If I do something you don't like I want you to tell me 'red'.

Slow down, 'yellow'. If you can't speak, tap my hand three times. Okay?" Ciel nods again. "After this I'm not going to make you say or do anything unless you request it." He kisses the back of Ciel's neck; Ciel feels the reverberation of his own trembling through the touch.

Ciel is so turned on that he isn't sure if he ever knew what arousal was until now.

Sebastian rolls his jeans and underwear down around his thighs, and that's when the gentleness stops. He smears lubricant along his cock and down and over Ciel's exposed, aching pucker, but that's all he gives; the next thing Ciel feels is the blunt press of the head of his cock and the circle of his arms around his waist.

God. God, it feels so good, to just get that, the hard press of another man's cock against his hole without anything else; no hand on his dick, no kisses, only the needy, demanding surge of male flesh between his cheeks.

He doesn't have to talk. He doesn't have to make noises to gratify his partner's efforts. He doesn't have to express desire or approval. His only job is to be taken and derive pleasure from whatever Sebastian is willing to give him. It's everything he's ever wanted but never had the language to ask for.

Sebastian makes him wait just a little, circling his slick pucker with the latex-clad head of his cock to spread the lubricant in lazily patterns. The pressure is incredible, but what makes it so good is how badly he wants it.

He feels something inside of him crack.

"Fuck me," he begs.

"Going to make you feel it," Sebastian replies, pressing forward.

"Please."

"Going to take you so hard." Sebastian surges up, pushing the length of his cock inside in one smooth thrust. His hands slide atop Ciel's, pushing them down, holding him in place as he pulls back and then slams forward again.

Ciel sobs, breathing out and relaxing around the intrusion. It hurts. It feels good.

He wants both of those sensations to continue. He keeps his eyes closed, letting nothing but the freedom of being taken care of flood his chest cavity, twine with his needy heartbeat as Sebastian fucks him. At first the sensation of being open is strange, vaguely uncomfortable; and then it's just warm and full, and then it's good, the plunge of Sebastian's cock up inside of him, twisting down into pleasure as the moments go by.

It's like falling into the softest, most comfortable bed imaginable. He breathes softly, eyes drifting back in his head as Sebastian's body rocking into his sets the pace of the lull. He floats atop that rhythm, weightless and anchorless, his fears and doubts dissolving in the mist of it. He has never felt this way before, but it's somehow like coming home after a long time away.

It feels so right. It feels so perfect.

Sebastian's fingers lace with his. He knows that Sebastian can feel the change in his body's resistance; he's gone so loose around Sebastian's cock, letting him in deeper, the muscles of his thighs loosening. He's fairly sure that the only rigid thing about him right now is his cock, bouncing softly in front of him.

"That's it," Sebastian whispers. "Let go for me, Ciel."

Ciel barely hears him. He doesn't even realize he's going under, and sweetly so, until he is, and all at once it feels like being awake through the perfect dream, fuzzy but still solid around him, the opposite of a night terror, real and unreal in the best possible way instead of the worst.

"Sebastian," he whispers, delirious, seeing shapes and feeling movement and hearing noise but grasping none of it.

He has no way of knowing then that he's gone limp on his knees and elbows, that Sebastian is the only thing keeping him upright, that his erection is smearing pre-come all over the leather in front of him. The only thing that matters is this soupy, endless cushion around his mind, bracketing his thoughts and feelings while his body takes its pleasure somewhere farther away, in ways that he has no control over.

Sebastian is taking care of it. Sebastian is taking care of him. He has nothing to worry about.

He listens to the distant slap of skin against skin as Sebastian fucks him harder, faster, sending jolts of sensation through the mindless haze. He has no idea how long he's been down here, but he can tell that Sebastian is close.

"Come in me," he breathes, lost to the rhythm of their bodies.

"Ciel," Sebastian whimpers. His hand closes around Ciel's cock. He loses the thread again, sensation flooding his pelvis in waves.

Coming all over the leather recliner is what brings Ciel out of subspace.

It's like an orgasm in reverse, almost, tracing the action from climax back through escalation, and by the time he has reached the beginning of it he's fully aware again, aware of the sweat on his skin and the fact that they're still almost entirely clothed, Sebastian's fingers tangled between his, Sebastian's cock still buried deep inside of him.

Sebastian comes with a soft gasp against the back of his neck; Ciel hardly feels it.

He wonders if orgasms matter much at all when going under had felt as amazing as it had.

He blinks lazily, realizing only too late that he's shaking all over. "I feel weird."

"It's okay. You're still a little under. Just keep listening to my voice, okay?" He's reaching for something but not pulling away, which is good. Ciel feels as if the only thing keeping him conscious is the anchor of Sebastian's touch. "Drink this."

It's a juice box-apple cranberry-and Ciel latches on and sucks down the sugary liquid gratefully. As it settles in his belly his brain clears wonderfully.

"Thanks."

Sebastian is still inside of him but slowly edges out as he softens, until Ciel is used to the empty feeling. He doesn't stay away for long-there's the soft drag of a moist towelette between Ciel's cheeks and along his thighs, and the gentle buttoning of Ciel's clothing, and then they're lying spooned together, Ciel's back to Sebastian's chest, on the recliner, their fingers laced together.

Sebastian kisses his jaw. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Safe. Don't go, okay?"

"I'm right here," Sebastian replies. "Cold? Warm?"

"Comfortable," he says, cuddling back into Sebastian's body. "So comfortable."

He can feel Sebastian smile against his skin.

"Sleep. When you wake up, we can talk, if you want."

He's already halfway there.

* * *

><p>He wakes up to Sebastian rolling on top of him, holding him down and kissing him awake.<p>

"Mmm," he hums into the kiss, opening his mouth.

"With me?" Sebastian asks.

"How long did I sleep?"

"An hour or so."

Ciel rolls a little, feeling his body aching and his back crack. Otherwise, he feels wonderful, and he tells Sebastian so. "Hungry, though," he adds, and Sebastian smiles and nuzzles into the space below his jaw.

"I ordered pizza, if that's okay. Good protein, good carbs, I figured you'd need something substantial."

"Sounds good," he answers, moving to sit up. "Give me a second?"

"Of course," Sebastian says, sitting opposite him. There are lubricant stains all over the front of his pants and even though he'd buttoned up he hadn't put his belt back on. Ciel stares at it looped over the armrest of the recliner and blushes.

The memory of Sebastian bending over his back and fucking him into a stupor is still so fresh.

They sit in silence for a short while and then he finally has the presence of mind to ask, "Is it like that every time? The-going under?"

"It can be," Sebastian answers. "But not always. I think-I think you just really needed it. Sometimes that need isn't there. Sometimes it's there but less important."

He nods, feeling lazy and relaxed. "We're kind of doing this dating stuff in reverse."

Sebastian smiles. "We have all the time in the world to explore. I just wanted to give you what you needed today. I wanted you to know that I-that I can meet your needs. I can, Ciel. I can give you whatever you need or want, any hour of the day. That's all I want to do."

Ciel blushes, tangling their fingers together. "Can we start with making each other happy for short periods of time over the course of the day?"

"I think I can manage that," Sebastian answers, grinning.

* * *

><p>He hears the sound of the kitchen sink running, feels the empty spot next to him in bed and knows immediately that Ciel is not okay. It's a combination of factors that registers as clearly as the sound of a baby crying or the smell of something burning or a washing machine rocking off-cycle from being overloaded. It doesn't take deep thought or context to alert him; he just knows. He's on his feet before he even fully wakes up, spine going straight and pulse racing. He just needs to see Ciel to know whether it's bad or really bad and then he can calm down, can just be there for him without all of the associated, aching concern that comes with a relationship.<p>

Ciel only does this in the middle of the night when he's had the nightmare, so Sebastian isn't surprised to find him bent over the kitchen sink, buried up to his forearms in the streaming tap. The white noise of the water combined with the spill of it over his skin is calming and always has been, especially if the water is exceptionally cold or hot (depending on the season), and getting up in a panic to shove his hands under the faucet while bending over it with his eyes closed and his breathing regulated has always been one of his healthiest coping methods.

Sebastian approaches quietly, leans his hip against the counter and gives Ciel the time to notice that he's there before he reaches out and puts one hand between Ciel's shoulder blades.

"Ciel?"

Ciel whimpers, presses his forehead against the neck of the faucet. His shoulders tremble under Sebastian's hand.

"Can't talk?" Sebastian asks, trying again.

Ciel shakes his head.

He considers his options. He thinks that asking Ciel to change position when he's this panicky would be too much. He sees the open bottle of anxiety medication on the counter, asks Ciel if he's taken a dose, gets a nod, and discards that option. Ciel had jerked at his touch, so physical enclosure is not on the table. There's more or less only two things left, then—either he just stands there and hopes that his presence calms Ciel down, or—

"Ciel? Would you like me to get your binder?"

"Please," Ciel whispers. It's barely heard over the noise of the running water, but Sebastian catches it.

"Just the top binder, or do you need the leg and the ankles?"

"Top."

"I'll just be a second. Keep breathing like that for me, okay?"

He doesn't rush. Any rapid movement or return anxiety on his part would just make Ciel worse, and that is not something that he wants to happen, even though he feels just as upset as he always does when Ciel has a nightmare or a panic attack. Upset or unshaken, though, his emotions are all for Ciel—how can he help, how can he fix it, how can he be what Ciel needs in that moment.

The binders are nothing fancy, just elastic material similar to body bandages only much nicer looking, made from extra fabric from Ciel's workroom. At first glance you'd have no clue what they really were, and that's sort of the point.

At the sink Sebastian helps Ciel stand up straight, though he stubbornly keeps his hands buried in the water up to his wrists. Sebastian doesn't speak as he wraps the tight fabric around Ciel's torso and upper arms, fixing the little hooks along his biceps. There are several rows so that the binder can be tightened or loosened. He chooses the second tightest row.

"More or less?" he asks, when he's close to done.

"Good," Ciel says, sounding just a fraction less frightened. "Hug?" he asks, taking his dripping hands from the water.

Oh, thank god, Sebastian thinks. Not so bad. He stands there behind Ciel at the sink, wraps his arms around Ciel's waist and essentially holds him up, arms bound tightly to his chest from his shoulder to his wrists, and lets the fear roll through him in waves. He loses track of how long they stand there, swaying naturally on their feet, until Ciel is putty against his chest, weighing down his arms as he goes progressively less rigid.

Finally, Ciel breathes, "Turn off the sink?" and Sebastian does, then quickly finds Ciel's waist again.

He's sweat through his t-shirt and the hair along the nape of his neck and temples is soaked with it, but the pulse throbbing at his throat is slower now, less panicky, and his eyelids have begun to slowly rise and fall again instead of just stay still and then flicker fearfully every few seconds. Sebastian checks his heartbeat, accepts the improvement in tempo though he'd like more, and then gently, gently presses his lips to the rise of Ciel's right shoulder.

"Same or different?" he asks.

"Same, but I hallucinated a little," Ciel says, and Sebastian winces.

The rape dream combined with the half-waking visual hallucinations of shapes and shadows that Ciel sometimes experiences is probably the worst thing he's ever had to endure; the two were separate until he and Sebastian moved in together, but as of late they've begun to shift together, forming layers of fear and panic and physical shock both during sleep and on the cusp of it.

Sebastian knows that blaming himself is neither the solution nor an explanation, but he worries. He is no longer Ciel's doctor, but Ciel's current doctor hasn't seemed to help—he's on his third combination of meds in two years, and his sessions aren't accomplishing anything more than the pills are.

Sebastian can't help but think, some days, that Ciel isn't telling him something.

It's driving him crazy. They had been so perfect in the beginning—they'd dated, had sex like teenagers, moved in together after an acceptable length of time, and Ciel had even landed a new job that was so much less stressful. But then the dreams and nightmares began again, with the addition of night terrors, so much worse than just the dreams themselves.

"I didn't feel you move," Sebastian admits. Typically, during a terror, Ciel will flail in bed, or shoot up and try to move out of it, and Sebastian has trained himself to feel that almost instantly.

"I broke out of it," Ciel says, voice slow and measured, as if every syllable requires effort. "Before it really started. It was just—spots, little ones, around my head, not—not so bad. I just needed the water, that's all. Didn't want to wake you."

"I want you to wake me," Sebastian replies, voice trembling. "No matter how bad or not bad it is."

"I know," Ciel says. "Sometimes I can't think when it happens."

Sebastian tightens his arms. "Do you want to go back to bed like this?" He presses his lips to Ciel's neck, breathing warm over his clammy skin. "I could put you under—"

Ciel shakes his head. "Too jumpy for that. Can I just sleep in my binder? Just—keep touching me?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Sebastian says, chest jangling with inadequacy and pain.

He lies awake half the night, tracing the tight weave of the binder under his fingertips while Ciel falls into an exhaustion and medication induced sleep. He knows that he should be more proactive, should already be planning, but just seeing Ciel's face go smooth and feeling his breathing grow deeper is enough in that moment to relieve him. His cheeks go warm with pleasure watching Ciel lie there wrapped up so neatly, clearly comforted by the snug hold of the material around his limbs and Sebastian's fingers threaded through his.

At least he can be here for this.

* * *

><p>It's not every day. It's just often enough for Sebastian to never quite manage forgetting about it. Most of the time, they live a perfectly average life: they go to work, come home, eat dinner. Go out with friends, go to the movies, go grocery shopping, go to the dentist. They laugh and have sex and joke around and dance in their underwear and repaint the walls and rearrange the furniture.<p>

Unlike other couples, though, they also have a closet dedicated to more complicated items. Bondage equipment and toys and all the things that go along with that—harnesses and benches, salves and lotions, all safely kept behind a privacy lock because sometimes their little gatherings get rowdy and Ciel doesn't want to risk their friends finding their most private belongings.

The truth is, half of it hasn't been used. In the beginning they'd selected everything with an eye toward "possibility"; Ciel had desperately wanted a variety of things at their fingertips should the mood strike, convinced that if they planned too much, talked about it too much, it would just become routine.

Sebastian is surprised to find him sitting on the carpet in front of one of the chests in their toy closet one weekend, rifling through it with his tongue between his teeth. The room smells like warm leather.

There is a vast difference between post-panic-attack-submissive Ciel and every day submissive Ciel, and Sebastian can see that today it's the latter, so he just sits cross-legged on the carpet beside Ciel, tugs a scarf from the depths of the chest and playfully hooks it around his neck.

"See something you like?" he asks, smiling. It's Saturday evening and he's relaxed and Ciel hasn't had a nightmare all week. It's a good time to be playful.

Ciel has a variety of items spread around him, but four different kinds of floggers directly in front of him, and Sebastian feels the back of his neck go hot. They've never used the floggers before. That Ciel is doing this, displaying them like that, means that he maybe actually wants to, and Sebastian is instantly aware, his back going straight even as his cheeks go red.

There are a few sets of heavy duty wrist restraints and matching ankles restraints, a few they've used on the bed but not often. Ciel is so easy when he wants to go under, sometimes all it takes is Sebastian's body weight or Sebastian's hands holding him in place, and the interest currently displayed on his face is new.

"Ciel, talk to me. What's up?" he asks, again.

"I think we need to talk about this stuff," Ciel says. He doesn't sound upset, just—like he wants to be heard correctly. Sebastian is all ears.

"Absolutely. What's on your mind?"

"I've been thinking a lot lately about what we've made a habit of using and not using," he says, looking up at Sebastian. "Some days it's—because I need it. Some days it's because I want it." He goes pink. "Some days it's because if I don't get it I literally can't function and that's—that's not need, that's survival, for me." Sebastian swallows thickly. Ciel's eyes are so green that they're almost like chips of jade, and so intense that Sebastian finds inhaling difficult. "But there are—consistencies."

"Okay," Sebastian says, embarrassed when it comes out broken. He clears his throat. "Such as?"

"Last week when you cuffed me to the headboard and fucked me, the bruises around my wrists were so bad that they didn't heal for days. I wore long-sleeved shirts to work but someone noticed and asked me if everything was okay."

"Oh my god, Ciel, I'm—"

"No, no," Ciel interrupts, breathing unevenly through parted, damp lips. "No, it's okay. I just made a joke about losing my fuzzy handcuffs and it blew right over. But I was so—excited, that someone had noticed, that it was obvious enough, severe enough to be noticed—I went into the bathroom and rubbed my wrists and got so hard that I couldn't come back out for twenty minutes."

"You came to visit me for lunch that day," Sebastian says, remembering how Ciel had dragged him to a motel even though they'd only had forty-five minutes, had begged Sebastian to cuff him and fuck his mouth and not let up until he'd made himself come in his pants just from rubbing against them.

Ciel blushes, smiling warm and soft, fingertips sliding over Sebastian's thigh.

"That was a really excellent lunch."

Sebastian laughs, ducks his face and watches Ciel's fingers. "Haven't had a better one since."

"My point is," Ciel says, taking a breath, "I floated that day. And I haven't had a nightmare since. I think—I think I like pain, and the marks that result from receiving it, more than I thought I did when we first started talking about this stuff." He fingers his right wrist, where there is still the faintest bit of color difference from the bruises. "I don't mean that I want to be damaged, I just—I enjoy it. It feels good, and after it feels even better, and when there are marks I'm reminded constantly of it, of you taking care of me, and—it's good. It lasts. It feels better than the haze I get from the pills."

Sebastian gently wraps his fingers around Ciel's forearm to slow him down. "I'm hearing you. As a disclaimer, though? Pills aren't the only thing that you can develop a dependence on. I want to give you everything you're asking for, baby, but I want us to be careful."

"I know," Ciel answers, sliding their fingers together. "I've talked about dependence a lot in session since we got together, and I want to be careful, too. But this is—something that we can do together, safely. It's not chemical, at least not made in a factory practically engineered to be addictive chemical, and we already have all the tools."

It's frightening and exciting all at once, and Sebastian knows that they need to go into details, but all that he can manage to ask at this moment is, "Tell me what you want?"

And when Ciel replies, breathless and flushed, "I want you to flog me," Sebastian's pupils blow wide and his thoughts scatter like ants under a magnifying glass. All he can see in that split second that it takes for his heart to catch up to his thoughts is Ciel's pale, long, muscled back spread out in front of him, a sea of milky white just waiting for—

Oh, god. He glances down at the floggers, at their braided handles and soft, supple tails, and his body cinches with an arousal so hot that he's afraid he's going to embarrass himself.

He stares into Ciel's equally wide eyes. The desire between them is palpable, simmering like a liquid they're both floating in, and Sebastian can't stop himself from reaching out, cupping Ciel's flushed cheek and drawing a line across his trembling mouth.

"You want to," Ciel says, reading him effortlessly. "You do."

"I've done it before, once or twice, at clubs, got some pretty solid training at the same time," Sebastian answers, the words not what he really wants to say because those experiences had been clinical compared to the way that Ciel makes him feel. At the time they'd felt like everything the scene had to offer—now he knows better. There is nothing like the love-infused intimacy that comes with this level of trust. Nothing.

"But you want to do it with me," Ciel insists, and all at once he's climbing into Sebastian's lap, straddling his thighs and kissing into the hair at his temple before biting down on the flushed curve of his ear. "You want to bring those lashes down on my skin, watch the welts swell up—listen to me cry out," he says, kissing down Sebastian's neck as Sebastian grows hot under his touch. "Oh, god, I want it so badly." He ruts forward, grinding against Sebastian. "Please. Please, can we?"

Sebastian has Ciel's hips under his hands and he uses the leverage to push them apart, just an inch or two. He takes Ciel's jaw in his hands. "We have to talk first. Pick the one you want, and we'll discuss how much you want. You need to understand that you may change your mind once we're doing it, and that that's okay." He'd witnessed subs at the club try to do too much, too fast, only to learn that pain can be surprising and sometimes unpleasant when you aren't prepared for how quickly it can escalate.

So they talk. They discuss aftercare—Ciel is adamant about wanting to feel the pain, but Sebastian knows what endorphin drop can do (one moment high on pain, the next just plainly in pain), so they agree on lotion and ice packs as a requirement.

"I've never touched your back before," Sebastian says. "It's going to hurt and the hurt will last, even if at the time it just feels amazing to you."

Ciel's one request is that they not plan it too far in advance. He doesn't want it to feel clinical. So Sebastian leaves the two floggers—both elk, one single, one double—and the restraints on top of the chest, puts the lotion in the bedside drawer and the ice packs in the freezer. He goes to a store after taking some measurements, buys hardware, and installs bases for hook restraints in the doorway between their bedroom and the ensuite bathroom (easily covered up by decorative panels), and they just—let the topic float.

* * *

><p>Ciel comes home from work late one night, straddles Sebastian's lap at the kitchen table, kisses him and spits out, "This plug is driving me nuts," with a pronounced wiggle of his perfect ass.<p>

Sebastian grins, sets his tablet down and runs his hands along Ciel's back, edges his fingertips past the waistband of Ciel's tailored slacks and gently grasps his left cheek. "You kept it in for me, though?" he asks, circling the plastic base of the toy buried inside of his gorgeous boyfriend with two fingertips.

"Yes, sir," Ciel answers playfully, pressing their foreheads together. "I am starving, though." Eating solid food and keeping a plug in all day are two things that do not mix, and even though Ciel loves his coffee, the shakes that he drinks on days when he's plugged aren't all that satisfying, and Sebastian knows that, which is why they usually end plug days with vigorous fucking and then a really heavy, fattening meal.

"Food is in the oven," Sebastian says, kissing him. "And I think you deserve to come, don't you?" And begins gently working the plug against Ciel's inner walls, twisting the base of it and wiggling it back and forth. There's a long, quiet moment when Sebastian gently removes the plug; Ciel exhales sharply, audibly when it's fully out.

"Please, please let me have you inside of me," Ciel sighed, sitting up higher on Sebastian's thighs.

Sebastian sucks at the pulse pounding at the base of Ciel's throat, then says into his ear, "Take me out of my pants, then turn on my lap, and sit down on my cock. Keep your elbows on the table."

"Fuck," Ciel hisses, fumbling for Sebastian's fly. "Yes, please."

After a long day on both their parts getting to indulge in this, satisfy both of their needs, is a treat. Sebastian's eyes flutter closed and open again to watch Ciel's long fingers fish him out of his underwear. Ciel strokes him once or twice to get him fully hard and standing, then lets Sebastian peel his pants down around his thighs.

"Just that," he says,turning Ciel around. "Just put my cock inside." Ciel is swollen and gaping and slick, and Sebastian takes pleasure in the moment before he comes down just watching the dusky brown-tinged pink of his hole gape hungrily empty. His cock aches and he forces out a breath, palms Ciel's pale, perfect ass cheeks apart. "God, you're so pretty. Come on," he says, guiding him down with one hand on the small of his back.

"Oh, god," Ciel whines, working Sebastian's thickness inside.

"Elbows," Sebastian reminds him.

"Yes, Sebastian," he says, then breaks again, whimpering and rocking side to side. "Almost hurts, so sensitive, been rubbing around that thing all day."

Sebastian doesn't even have to say tell me if it's too much. It's a ground rule. He just slides his hands around Ciel's thin, milky thighs and pulls him down the rest of the way, earning a soft cry. He knows how Ciel likes it, knows just how hard to go after such a long day stuffed full of the widest plug they own.

"Fuck yourself on it, come on," he growls, swatting Ciel's plump, upturned ass cheek for good measure. "Want you to come, no hands."

"Not going to be a problem," Ciel whimpers, leaning forward on his arms and arching his back, then rutting deeply into Sebastian's lap and then forward again.

"Prostate so swollen—oh fuck, you're so thick, god, yes, just let me—"

Sebastian wraps his free hand around the edge of the table to keep it from sliding around, puts the other on Ciel's hip and holds him, too, even though his feet are planted on the floor. Ciel buries his face in his arm and blindly rocks back and forth, working Sebastian's cock over his prostate; the angle is so perfect for this that Sebastian isn't surprised when it only takes five minutes or so for Ciel to start whining and stuttering in his movements.

"Unh," Ciel moans, and then again, "unh, unh, oh, god," and he jerks, twists, practically comes up on his heels and then sits down at a rough angle. Sebastian drags him in, feels his ass clench, and can see just beyond his heaving ribs the jut of his purple-crowned cock jerk in mid-air. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Sebastian. Oh god, coming, coming, oh god." The shaft of his cock pulses and bobs as he shoots, lush strands of pearly white that hit the tiled kitchen floor with audible slick noises. He writhes like a fish through the orgasm, then slumps onto his arms folded on the table.

Sebastian kisses his clothed back, so warm that it's radiating body heat through the cloth. "Mm. Perfect. So perfect for me."

"All day," Ciel gibbers, rubbing his ass around Sebastian. "Would you—"

Considering the mess on the floor and the timer on the oven, Sebastian answers,

"Want to come all over that beautiful, stretched hole. Sit up a little for me? Hold yourself open?"

"Oh," Ciel breathes, glancing over his shoulder. He's flushed and sweating and gorgeous. "Oh, yes."

He braces himself higher up on the table, stands so that his ass hovers just inches above Sebastian's cock, holding his pale cheeks apart. He knows just how Sebastian likes to see him wide open, loves to see his rim puffed up from friction, wrinkled and twitching. It doesn't take long before all there is is the noise of Sebastian pulling on himself as he lets the fat head of his cock settle on Ciel's rim.

"Gonna clean up your mess after I come all over you, like a good boy?" Panting.

Fist gliding dry and fast around himself, skin on skin, the shushing noise of it the only sound outside of their breathing. Ciel is shaking, fingers trembling from the effort of holding himself up and open, pants around his knees.

"Yes, Sebastian," he answers. "Just want your come. Wanted it all day, feeling your plug holding me open, just wanted your beautiful fucking come all over me."

He lowers his cheek to the table, spreads his thighs and arches his back and fuck, he is the most beautiful thing that Sebastian has ever seen. "All yours. Belong to you. Come on me wherever, whenever, I just—love you so much—please—" He's breathing fast, getting worked up again, and Sebastian is tipped over the edge by his excitement.

Sebastian gasps as the orgasm hits and flutters in waves, as his come sluggishly drools over Ciel's sacrum and drips down his cheeks to puddle along the edge of the divide between them, and then Sebastian pulls back an inch, spurts softly and directly into the dark gape of his ass, watching the air bubbles and thicker slickness paint his rim. He doesn't even move to shove any back inside, just watches as Ciel makes himself close up and then open again, slick and messy with it as it drips down his balls. There are beautiful streaks of it all over his ass and lower back and if Sebastian could paint he'd give up his entire career in medicine to immortalize Ciel in these moments for the rest of his life.

"Love you," he breathes, overwhelmed. "Love you, Ciel."

* * *

><p>Ciel has a night terror—aborted, because Sebastian held him as soon as it started and as a result naturally encouraged him out of it early—and the following night he's quiet but not as rattled as he might have been had it come to full fruition. They cuddle on the couch after dinner and cleaning up, and then Sebastian presses Ciel down into the cushions under him, pins him on his back with his arms above his head and kisses him until he starts to go under.<p>

It's fast, and Sebastian gently taps his cheek. "Are you okay for this right now, love?"

"Can we—" Ciel stares up at him, pupils wide. He's already sliding under. "I want to try the flogger."

They haven't discussed it since. Sebastian's heart leaps into his throat. He doesn't want Ciel to see that he's nervous, but he is. He is also powerfully excited, but that doesn't mean it's all positive and he has to be sure.

"You want the restraints, in the doorway, and the elk hide flogger we talked about?"

"The single," Ciel confirms, watching Sebastian's mouth move.

"Just as we discussed?" Sebastian asks.

"Yes. No counting, just stroke by stroke, and if I'm not happy we stop immediately."

Sebastian sits up. He strokes Ciel's jaw, loving it when Ciel remains in position even though he's moved. He smiles—soft, lopsided, loving. He is so lucky to have this man for a partner.

"Strip down to your briefs. Leave them on. Wait for me. I'll strap you in, but I need to get some things first."

He needs a moment alone as much as he needs to get the ice packs that are in the freezer. So he takes his time. He does a few slow laps around the kitchen, gets his breathing under control and ignores the half-mast in his pants as easily as any other time when Ciel has needed him but hasn't needed his dick. He can't deny that he's—thrilled, to be able to try this again. He'd loved giving out much-needed release at the end of a flogger at the clubs, had loved how ecstatic the severe endorphin flood could make a sub. But this isn't just any sub. It's Ciel. His lover, his best friend, his partner. He needs to do this perfectly.

By the time he enters the bedroom he's rock steady. He puts the ice packs on the bed on top of a towel, then turns to find Ciel kneeling in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom, the two pairs of restraints stacked neatly beside him. He puts the bottle of lotion next to the pillows just to give himself that extra moment, and then crosses the room.

"Stand up," he says, and Ciel does. He takes Ciel in his arms, kisses him and gently pets his sides and back until he's loose and returning the kisses with ease, whimpering under his breath. He lifts the restraints and puts them on Ciel's wrists and ankles, and by the time he has Ciel in the doorway Ciel is trembling. "Color?"

"Green," he answers, as Sebastian spreads his legs and attaches the ankle restraints to their mounts, tightening and adjusting. "I'm wobbly, and I want this so much. I'm going to tip under on the first stroke, Sebastian, I am just so—"

"You may not," he says, attaching the wrist restraints. "Stay alert for me in any case, okay?" He steps back after adjusting them, tilts his head, then adjusts some more, until Ciel is a perfect human x-shape in the doorway. He's stunning like this, pale and beautiful, his musculature stretched but not to its limit. He looks comfortable, as if he were meant to be placed like this, meant to be spread out for all to see. Even shackled, his pride of and comfort with his body shines through.

"Are you comfortable?" Sebastian asks, stroking Ciel's spine from top to bottom, bottom to top. "There should be some give, because you're going to move around a lot."

"It's good," Ciel answers.

"Like I said, I'm going to use the single tonight, okay? More control."

"Yep. Okay."

His fingers are steady when he lifts the flogger but his body is throbbing, for lack of a better term. He can feel his heartbeat in every inch of himself, and he stands there with the tail of the flogger dangling down his leg, unable to deny that with the hide in his hand he feels powerful. Ciel's trusts envelops him like a warm blanket. He twists the handle against his palm, gets a feel for the spring and give of it, and whips the tails out neatly to make sure that there are no tangles.

"Do you want a gag or a blindfold?" he asks.

"No," Ciel replies. "Not tonight."

He gently drags the soft, supple tails over Ciel's shoulders, and earns an audible inhale. "If you don't like it, we'll stop." He pauses, drags the hide the other way, lets the tails dangle down Ciel's flushed, trembling back. He presses his lips to Ciel's earlobe, bright red under his mouth, "If you like it, I want you to show me. You don't have to speak but I want to hear you, okay? Let it out. There's a reason there's a half mile between us and the next house." Ciel smiles, and that's good.

"Are you ready?" Ciel nods.

Sebastian sets his feet and braces himself and lets his forearm feel the weight of the toy—it's light, single-handled, not nearly as heavy as some of the toys he's wielded before, and that makes him comfortable. He brings his arm back, lopes the tail diagonally left to right in a light slash down over Ciel's back. The patter of the hide on flesh is beautiful—a soft layered smack as each individual tail hits, and pink springs up in streaks down Ciel's back. He barely flinches, but he does exhale loudly, and his shoulders bunch and his toes curl. Sebastian sucks in an aroused breath and does it again, a little harder.

"Sebastian," Ciel whimpers.

And again, and again, rapid criss-crossing, differing stroke direction and placement with every fall of his arm. The rhythm is hypnotic. Ciel shifts under the lash and then moans as the marks grow darker and raise higher. His body begins to curl inward, then stretch out as if to escape the pain, then inward again, crying out every time the tails meet his skin with a soft staccato snap. Sebastian sweats and grows so hard that he has to undo his pants just to be able to comfortably continue.

By twenty strokes, Ciel's back is a beautiful map of barely-there redness, and he's swaying in the restraints. Sebastian stops. He circles around to check Ciel's pulse and breathing and pupils; Ciel is soundly under, mouth soft with relaxation, eyelids lifting lazily.

"How's my baby doing?" Sebastian asks, kissing Ciel's cheeks.

"So good," Ciel murmurs, wrists flexing. "I love you."

Sebastian smiles. Ciel is a sentimental mush when he goes under, sometimes, and he doesn't remember anything he says from minute to minute while there, so Sebastian has never really been about to playfully embarrass him about it later.

He inspects the marks—they're pink, streaked red at the contact points and swelling up fast, but there's no broken skin and he hadn't caught any bad angles. He breathes a sigh of relief and just lingers, tracing the marks with his fingertips and then letting himself taste a few of the lighter ones near Ciel's neck with the tip of his tongue.

Ciel moans, back bending.

"Are you hard?" he asks, stroking Ciel's ribs.

"Yeah," Ciel answers, sounding far away. "'M'wet."

Sebastian flushes, reaches around and feels that Ciel has indeed dribbled pre-come all over the front of his underwear, which is unusual for him. He has let go so beautifully tonight, and Sebastian hasn't even really started.

"Could you," he says, whining softly when Sebastian squeezes him through his underwear. "Do more?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, please."

Giving the welts time to swell will make any stroke after more painful, so Sebastian isn't sure that Ciel will like it, but he begins again as requested, adding a little more muscle as he builds speed. Ciel twists, goes up on his toes, his arms glistening with sweat as he takes it.

_Swish, cross, swish, criss, swish swish swish slap slap._

"Color?" Sebastian asks.

"G-gree-n. Please." His voice is wrecked and his ass is clenched and he's writhing into nothing and Sebastian can't deny the thrill of pushing him, of seeing his back criss-crossed with red, blotchy patches. It's beautiful; the color and the way they've fallen, it's so fucking beautiful.

He does another round, harder still (Ciel sobs) and another (Ciel arches forward) and another (Ciel stiffens and cries out) and doesn't stop, letting the soft tails fall again and again and again once a second, once every other second, until his arm begins to burn.

"Color?" he asks again.

One of the welts had fallen on top of another welt and Sebastian watches it bead up dark and red, almost to the point of bleeding but not quite there because the skin is still in tact, and he's momentarily breathless with concern, and stops, stepping close to inspect Ciel's skin.

Ciel whimpers into the charged silence, "I—came in my—oh, my god, Sebastian, I can't—"

"Do you want to stop?"

"Yes," Ciel answers, twisting, "please, touch me."

He puts the flogger down and wraps his arms around Ciel's middle from the front, avoiding touching his back, letting Ciel's head come down to tuck into his neck.

He strokes Ciel's half-softened cock, nudging his soiled underwear down.

"Oh, oh," Ciel moans, and spills several little jolts into Sebastian's hand, "oh, god, don't stop."

Sebastian reaches around, presses his hand against Ciel's dry hole and perineum and jerks Ciel off with his other hand, patient, for minutes and minutes, until he spills again, sobbing, his face tear-streaked and his body a sweating and flushed.

Even after two orgasms and a hundred or so lashes, he's still under. Sebastian lets him recover, then takes him out of the restraints. He can stand but he's wobbly. Sebastian gets him onto the bed, puts a thin towel over his skin and then places the ice packs over that.

He sits beside him on the bed, takes his face into his lap, and that's when Ciel cracks. It's just a sniffle at first but it only takes a moment for that to morph into tears that Ciel has no control over. Sebastian strokes his hair and lets the initial burst taper off.

When he's sniffling again Sebastian rotates the ice packs, checks the swathes of reddish pink for any skin breakage and, finding none, asks, "On a scale of one to ten, how's the pain?"

"Ten," Ciel says, nasally. "The ice is good." He still sounds a little out of it.

"Lotion, maybe?"

"Um. Maybe once I get cleaned off?"

Sebastian smiles. "Lie down on your belly?" He keeps contact with Ciel's skin even as they rearrange, kneeling and then lying down on the bed between Ciel's legs.

"Lift up?"

When he's just slightly up on his knees, Sebastian peels off his underwear, gently licks the tracks of come and sweat from his skin, making him whine and shift around, and then actually cleans him with a damp towel.

"Mm," Ciel hums as Sebastian uses his ass for a pillow. "Feels good."

"You surprised me," Sebastian says, stroking Ciel's hips and lower back. He can just see the patches of raised skin beneath the edge of the towel, and he has to admit that it's turning him on. But it's not the time for that, either. "You did so well."

"Remind me of that when I spend the whole weekend complaining?" Ciel asks dryly, sounding more conscious and significantly more sarcastic.

Sebastian laughs. "Will do."

The aftercare is lengthy and sexless; Sebastian makes sure that Ciel is comfortable and they stay up for hours talking. Sebastian brings him water and makes sure that he takes small sips, swaps ice packs until the advisable time period for ice on skin is up, then applies a layer of lotion just before wrapping him in the softest, lightest t-shirt he owns. Sebastian never goes far, never lets Ciel out of touching range when they're on the bed, and they fall asleep with Ciel as the little spoon.

* * *

><p>But things get—intense, after that.<p>

For one, Ciel takes to it faster than Sebastian had ever imagined possible. They end up doing some kind of marking/pain-related sex play at least once a week now, whether it's flogging or paddling or spanking. Sometimes Ciel does under and sometimes he doesn't; sometimes he's breathless with needing it, sometimes it's just because he wants to enjoy it lazily. This isn't necessarily a bad change, it's just a sudden one, and Sebastian finds himself wondering if it's the best choice considering how awful Ciel's dreams have been lately.

Ciel does seem to have fewer nightmares and almost no terrors, at least none intense enough to scare him conscious, but one evening Sebastian wakes up in the middle of the night to find Ciel half-awake beside him, moaning and thrashing. If it's a nightmare, it's a hell of an erotic one, judging by the pillow Ciel has between his legs—two pillows, actually, snug with his pink, swollen cock between them, his underwear discarded and his pelvis hammering away.

_Why hadn't Ciel nudged him awake? That's not like him._

"Ciel?" he asks, softly. If Ciel is dreaming, Sebastian doesn't want to shock him awake.

But he isn't. He moans, "Sebastian," and reaches out blindly, and Sebastian catches his hands.

"Baby, what's wrong?" He's awake, but that doesn't mean he's fully cognizant, either.

"Please," Ciel gasps, tugging at his arm.

"Talk to me. Tell me, honey. Was it a dream?"

"Yeah," Ciel replies, tugging harder still. "I—need you."

Sebastian stares—there's an uncapped bottle of lubricant down near Ciel's thigh, and wet all over Ciel's ass, staining the back of his t-shirt in places. Normally, Sebastian would be on him in a heartbeat, but he looks almost crazed right now.

"Please don't talk anymore," he begs, rolling onto his back and dragging Sebastian on top of him. "Fuck me. I need you to fuck me."

He's awake now. Sebastian is unsettled but doesn't see any real reason to deny him. He reaches for the lubricant, but Ciel just kisses his neck and pushes his boxers down around his thighs.

"Don't," he says, raspy and desperate. "There's enough."

"You got more on your skin than your—"

"Fuck me," Ciel whimpers, wrapping his legs around Sebastian's hips.

It's as intoxicating as it is frightening, staring down at that twisted, wanting face.

At Ciel's thighs, milky and hairless, spread open around him. Ciel is so hard that it looks painful, the crown of his cock engorged and shiny. He tries to feel between Ciel's cheeks but Ciel just whines and twists and presses up and so he gives in, lines himself against Ciel's hole and pushes. It's—tacky. Much drier than usual, and Ciel is painfully tight.

"Ciel, you're," he pants.

"Hold me down," Ciel groans.

"How?"

"My arms, my chest, just, be rough," he says, and Sebastian's cock throbs and his pulse races and he reacts before he can think, wanting to give Ciel what he's asking for. He grips Ciel's forearms roughly, pushes them into the mattress, then presses his chest down and over Ciel's, pins him to the bed and fucks up between his cheeks. It takes longer than usual, getting inside of him, and the grip is so tight that it almost hurts. Sebastian is positive that it's hurting Ciel, too, but Ciel won't let go, won't stop fucking down against him.

Sebastian presses his face into Ciel's throat and feels it contract and expand with huffy, frantic breathing as he buries himself all the way. He digs his fingers around Ciel's wrists hard enough to bruise, feels Ciel struggle to inhale because their chests are pressed so tightly together.

"Fuck me," he repeats, and then, even more breathlessly, "hurt me. Fucking hurt me, Sebastian."

In the darkness, with Ciel's ass throbbing too snug around him, with Ciel's strong, long body practically begging to be overwhelmed beneath him, a very animalistic part of Sebastian's brain simply screams do it, he is actually asking you to do it, so do it, and he—gives in. He knows that Ciel is perfectly capable of recognizing his own limits. He—trusts Ciel, and so despite his misgivings, he gives in.

Something switches on in his brain, an all too basic desire to take what is on offer and not question the motive.

He twists Ciel's wrist bones under his fingers until Ciel cries out in pain. He knows the bruises will be terrible, but he does it anyway. He shoves Ciel's legs, Ciel's pelvis, higher under his, roughly. He bites Ciel's neck, knowing how deep the teeth marks will go. He fucks Ciel like an animal, heedless of the lack of a smooth glide, knowing that every other whimper is a whimper of pain and not pleasure.

When Ciel's cock stays rock hard between them, grinding along their bellies, he bites down on Ciel's earlobe and hisses, "You like that?" He can feel the shaft of Ciel's cock throb. "Like me fucking you like this?"

"Please," Ciel moans.

"Say it," Sebastian murmurs, going with it, feeling the arousal hum through Ciel's body, "Say you like my cock splitting you open."

"I—like—your cock—" He gasps when Sebastian goes deep, twists his face to the side, and a tear streaks down the side of his face and all it does is make Sebastian harder. "—your cock splitting me oh—open."

Sebastian loses it, somewhere between hissing those words and coming.

Ciel begs, "Slap me."

He knows he shouldn't, but he's already doing this. Without missing a beat he slaps Ciel's face, just enough to make a small crack resound between them; not even hard enough to leave a mark, but he does it.

"Don't stop fucking me, do—do it again," Ciel says.

He has no clue what the fuck they're doing, but he does it again. Slaps that beautiful alabaster cheek, throws Ciel's legs over his shoulders and fucks him into the headboard, heedlessly, even when his head starts getting dangerously close to the hard surface. His hand naturally travels down from Ciel's face, closes around his throat and squeezes—just enough to make him feel it.

"Sebastian," Ciel moans, "yes."

He locks his thumb under Ciel's Adam's apple, then shifts higher, cradles the softest part of his throat and squeezes harder. "Want me to choke you?" Ciel's only answer is a frantic nod, and so Sebastian does it, cuts off Ciel's breathing and fucks him, and fucks him, and fucks him. When he lets go Ciel's throat is ringed with finger marks, his eyes glittering in the darkness.

Sebastian slaps his face again, on the other side, sits up for better leverage, hauling his legs up, dragging his ass off the mattress and pushing deeper inside of him, almost bending him in half.

"Don't," he growls, when Ciel moves his arms; he grabs them and pushes them down along Ciel's sides, Ciel's legs going wobbly around his shoulders. He pins Ciel's bruised forearms to the bed and lets the sticky grab of Ciel's hole drive him over the edge. He comes hard, shuddering through every pulse.

The aftermath is horrific. Once the endorphins stop rushing his system he just lies there, Ciel a boneless mess of limbs, bruises, and bitemarks under him. Even in the weak moonlight he can see all of them, can see that Ciel is covered in them.

The only things breaking up the picture are the ropes of come all over his chest and belly—he must have come with or shortly after Sebastian. His eyes are slitted, satisfied in a dark way that makes Sebastian falter, unsure of himself.

And all at once, it is most spectacularly not okay.

He does something he should not do, but it's too late to be rational; he gets up, goes to the bathroom and sits on the toilet, unable to breathe the same air as Ciel for a moment longer. He feels like his chest is going to collapse, and shapes similar to Ciel's night terror hallucinations snapping in front of his vision. He forces himself to breathe.

He's surprised when Ciel comes to him ten minutes later, knocking softly on the door, shattering his hard-won mental silence.

"Come in."

Seeing Ciel in the full light of the bathroom is a shock. His face is red from being slapped. His neck is ringed with Sebastian's hand print. His arms are covered in bruises of varying colors and shapes and sizes from wrist to elbow. His thighs have marks that Sebastian doesn't even remember making, and his ass is a mess of lubricant and come.

It's not like him to not care about all of that, to stand there like that without moving to clean up, and still Sebastian can't breathe.

"Did I make you bleed?" he forces out, still feeling like there's a boulder set on his chest.

"What?"

He stares at Ciel, anger welling up inside of him. "Did I make you fucking bleed, Ciel? Anywhere? Inside?"

"No," Ciel exhales, sitting down on the bathroom rug without breaking eye contact. "No, you didn't."

"That was not okay," he says, letting the words come without thought. If he thinks right now, he's going to say things that he'll regret.

Silence, and then, "I know."

"We did not discuss that kind of play. You never asked for it, we never set boundaries—you never asked."

"I know," Ciel repeats, and Sebastian can't stop looking at his wrecked skin.

The very worst part of it is that Sebastian, on some unconscious level, had enjoyed that. He'd enjoyed being aggressive, enjoyed giving in to Ciel's inappropriate, boundary-free requests. He'd enjoyed taking complete control and using Ciel, who had so obviously wanted to be harmed.

Sebastian curls up into a ball, sinking his fingers into his hair and his elbows onto his lap.

"You violated our trust," he breathes, miserable. "Why? Tell me why this happened tonight, what need did that satisfy?"

Ciel whimpers just once before his face goes still. He bites his bottom lip, bows his head and begins to rock a little, hands shifting nervously.

Sebastian can feel control skidding away from him like ping pong balls spinning across sleek ice. He himself is compromised, but he has to collect those ping pong balls and do something smart before this completely blows up. That is his job. He is Ciel's dom.

"Collar and ropes, right now," he says, standing shakily. "I want you calm and I want you still and we are going to fucking talk about this."

It's like a walk of shame, that trip to the closet. Ciel doesn't need to be told to crawl; he just does, right behind Sebastian the whole way. Sebastian snaps him into a thick leather collar that has two small metal rings on either side. He uses a simple nylon rope to bind Ciel from from bicep to wrist, anchoring up his spine and around his shoulders, where he hooks the rope into the collar rings.

"Stay," he says. Ciel kneels in front of him, beautifully pale under the black of the collar and the ropes. "Eyes on the floor. Now close them." Ciel begins to breathe easier, and so does he.

"I am so sorry," Ciel says.

"And I am sorry for allowing you to bulldoze me," Sebastian replies. "Now. Why?"

"I've been—lately, the pain has just helped so much, and I—but I'm still having those fucking dreams, and—"

"You always have. What's changed? Why? Again, Ciel, because you're avoiding my question."

"I didn't know how to ask you to do it. I thought if it happened in the heat of the moment—"

"The things we do at home can't always be that way. You know that. This—this stuff is more talk than action half of the time, you know that."

"I violated the rules, I know," Ciel replies, shivering on his knees. "I know."

"Again. Ask me to do what, exactly?"

Ciel flinches. "To rape me."

Sebastian's chest goes cold. "What?"

"To—pretend, to rape me." Ciel stares at the rug, bending lower on his knees.

"The last few months, the idea has tortured me. Since the beginning, really, just—not as badly. Ever since I saw you let go a little—use the paddle and the flogger and really just, lay into me—I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"Like what we just did?"

"More," Ciel says, voice breaking. "Like—the real deal. Role playing it. Without any holding back."

Sebastian takes a deep breath and then lets it out. He's—speechless. A little sick.

A lot disappointed that Ciel hadn't told him this months ago.

"We never discussed that as a possibility," he says.

"It was so disgusting to you that you never even mentioned it as a hard no," Ciel says, sounding disgusted with himself. "It never even occurred to you that I'd be sick enough to want it."

_Oh, Ciel._

"That isn't true. You're not—sick, for wanting it. Maybe if you'd been actually assaulted at some point in your past, maybe then I'd see why—but they're just dreams, Ciel. Fantasies. Darker than most, maybe, but still the product of your subconscious thoughts. You trusted me to guide you through this lifestyle and I have. Why couldn't you have trusted me with this, too?"

Tears crawl down Ciel's cheeks. "I didn't know how to ask."

"On the bed, please," Sebastian commands, weariness in his tone.

He's—deflating, despite not wanting to, smothered by the weight of what they'd just done and of what Ciel has expressed. It's almost too much for him in that moment. He's done a lot of things that resemble violence in the pursuit of this lifestyle, but he's never role played something that dark and he isn't sure if he could. But the bottom line is that he hadn't been given a choice tonight, and that's wrong.

He watches Ciel crawl to the bed and then settle into a kneeling position on the mattress. The knotting is still beautifully intact around him, and Sebastian can't help but appreciate the splashes of color that all the bruising and marks have brought to the milky landscape of his half-naked body.

"Lie down," he says, and then joins Ciel on the bed, lying close enough to share warmth but not touch. Normally, he would not physically withdraw after such an intense scene; but the misbehavior had been so gross and the violation on both sides so complete, that the normal rules simply can't apply.

"Please forgive me," Ciel says.

"I do," Sebastian replies, because that is part of moving past unpleasant scenes.

"But this isn't something that I'm going to shrug off by breakfast, Ciel. What you did was—painfully unfair. And that I didn't stop you or myself—is not going to leave me, any time soon."

"I understand. I—love you, so much, I just—"

He reaches out, tangles his fingers in Ciel's hair. He's fairly sure that he hadn't touched Ciel's scalp at any point tonight, so that area at least should be bruise free. "There is nothing—nothing—that we can't discuss. You could ask me to do anything imaginable to you and I wouldn't judge you. I'd refuse, but I would not judge you." His voice breaks. "Do you understand me? I love you that much." Ciel begins to shake, and Sebastian can't resist putting an arm around his bound body. "It's almost morning. Sleep for an hour or two, and we'll take a look at you. And we'll talk more."

"Okay," Ciel whispers, "okay, Sebastian."

* * *

><p>In the light of day, everything seems distant and fractured, and Sebastian's urge to take care snaps into place just as firmly as the sickness takes hold of his belly.<p>

Taking care wins out, as it always does, and he spends the morning going over every inch of Ciel's body and even checking his rectum just to make sure that no lasting damage had been done. Ciel seems whole and fine below the surface; Sebastian rotates ice and heat on the worst of his bruises.

It's the conversations that come after that are difficult.

Sebastian gets out his old notes from Ciel's original sessions. Still a little unsteady, he makes Ciel go through them. He makes Ciel explain the nature of the role play that he's looking for, every detail, from the setting to the words he wants to hear to the way he wants it to end. Ciel gets so ruffled answering these questions that he has to kneel just to stay calm, but they get through it.

When all is said and done, Sebastian feels like he can breathe again. At least they've discussed it, now. At least it's out there between them. The words are on the page, though they are shocking.

"I can't promise that I can do this for you," he says, in the end. "But after the changes we've made recently, I also can't say that it's out of the question, either. You've—" He exhales. "You've altered the part of me that would have found even what we did last night impossible, yes. But to tell you I can, that I will—no. I just can't, Ciel."

"I understand," Ciel says, there on his knees, looking up at Sebastian with those irresistible eyes. "I—don't want there to be any premeditation. If you do it, I mean. No warning. It has to be—as if it were actually happening, so if you never manage to get there, I'll wait. I'll be happy to wait. Just the fact that you're considering it—it means so much to me. And the pain play is enough. I'll make sure it's enough."

And as the months pass, it is. They weave it into their weekends like any other couple might incorporate a shopping trip, and as Sebastian grows in confidence and ability, as they expand their toy chest and Ciel learns how to give over completely to the pain and the release that it offers, the dreams and night terrors fade to manageable levels again. He sleeps through the night and, even if some mornings Sebastian notices him peel the underwear from his sticky pelvis, or he jerks off in the shower to avoid confessing the nature of his dreams, it's okay; not everything has an easy solution, and Sebastian is happy to work through it.

* * *

><p>It is true, though, that there's a darker side to Ciel. There always has been. Sebastian can't deny that. Since the beginning, he has always been aroused by morbid things. Drawn to violence as a matter of course. Turned on by roughness, by absolute dominance. And no matter what Sebastian does, he can't stop thinking about it. They haven't discussed it since and it's driving him insane.<p>

The substitute—largely a lot of rough sex with blindfolds and cuffing—grows on him. He becomes used to the play, to the hints of non-consent, as time goes by, as he learns what it can do for Ciel.

Ciel finds blissful release in the appearance of being forced or roughly handled. The distinction between play and actual non-consent is a firm line for them both in theory, but theory doesn't seem to matter much when Ciel is bound and gagged and riding Sebastian's cock with nothing more than the force of his torso strength and Sebastian egging him on with filthy little, "Fucking slut, that's it. Ride my cock, make me come with just your tight ass and maybe I'll let you go, huh?" and on and on, things that Sebastian had never imagined he could bring himself to say.

The lines blur.

They attempt breathplay. Sebastian has no words for what it feels like to hold Ciel close while squeezing his throat, in complete control of his sub's breathing, starving him for air and then letting the oxygen rush in and flood his body in dizzying ways. The first time that Ciel comes after just such a moment, Sebastian fucks his abused mouth and throat until they're both a sobbing mess. Ciel stays on his knees for hours after, licking and kissing at Sebastian's soft cock and touching the marks around his throat with awed, pleasured reverence.

Sebastian learns better knotting configurations so that he can leave Ciel in the most complicated positions, working his long limbs into comfortable but challenging arrangements and leaving him to his own breathing behind a blindfold or a gag or both for hours at a time. He's a mess afterward but an affectionate one, coming out of subspace with contented groans, kissing Sebastian and breathing declarations of love and rubbing the pale knot marks on his skin happily.

They spend more time touching and talking and cuddling during aftercare than ever before, Ciel unfurling beneath him, next to him, on top of him, a level of relaxation that he'd never achieved before, contentment in every line of his pale, muscled body.

The need for extremity seems to fade with practiced repetition of intense scenes. On the surface, it seems as if even Ciel's longing for the one scene that Sebastian has never been able to give him is gone. But Sebastian knows better. It's still there, just below the surface. It shows in the way that Ciel needs to be alone, put under, or brought to orgasm every time that they accidentally watch a rape scene on television or in the movies.

It's never just sexual—there's something about it that gets to Ciel—emotionally, psychologically, deep down in a place where Sebastian can't go. If there's anything that Sebastian should be able to grasp, it's the workings of the mind, but without previous assault history he can't guess at why Ciel is so effected, so thoroughly entranced, by this one fantasy. To call it a kink is to grossly oversimplify it, as well as insulting on a variety of levels, and yet—

He just can't define it.

He takes out the notes he'd written that morning after, reading over the scenario that Ciel had detailed, from the shaky start down to the signature and date at the bottom of the bullet points, giving his consent to the role play, and by the time that Sebastian finishes reading it his fingers are making the paper shake and he's thinking about it. About what he'd do. When and where and how, and Ciel—

Ciel needs this. Has always needed it.

In the end, it comes down to that, and Sebastian has a feeling that it always will.

* * *

><p>He tells Ciel that he's going out of town for business for the weekend, packs a bag, and spends the night at a hotel before driving back to the house the following evening. He parked down the road, walks the two miles it takes to get there, and lingers well out of sight of the house itself for a while.<p>

He's spent the entire day getting ready for this—he's wearing the dark clothing. He's been meditation breathing all afternoon, reading and re-reading and memorizing the words that Ciel had asked for. Reminding himself that every single thing that he's about to do are things that Ciel has been dreaming of. Reminding himself that this fantasy had been the inspiration for almost half of their current sex life—everything in the toy chest, every act of pain and binding and dirty talk, every time that Sebastian had held Ciel down and fucked him or choked him or spanked his skin red—it's all down to that dream.

The dream that had brought them together in the first place.

If he can do this for Ciel, with Ciel, he'll be fulfilling Ciel's ultimate fantasy of complete release. Complete surrender of control. Fear, and pain, and the threat of harm with a guarantee of no actual harm. Letting go. Really and truly letting go.

_Isn't that what he has always wanted to give Ciel?_

He approaches the house, his heartbeat already accelerating, Ciel's words spinning in his head.

I'm alone. That's what matters. No matter where I am, whether it's a parking lot or an underground garage or a car or my own home, I'm alone. Vulnerable. He breaks the lock, opens the door, smashes the window. Whatever it takes to get to me, he does it.

He knows that Ciel is asleep. He doesn't have to break anything to get in, thank goodness, and so he makes his way silently through the house, creeping like a burglar. His pulse is roaring in his ears now. Despite everything, he is excited—powerfully excited, to play a role, to put on a character that Ciel has been longing for, waiting for, for so long.

_He grabs me. I fight him, but he's so strong. He subdues me. Tangles my legs and arms. Something about him just—takes the power from my body. His presence makes no real sense. But whether I like it or not he's there, and all he wants, all he's come for, is me. He wants to use me. He wants to have me, and he doesn't care if I want him back. And there's something remarkably simple about that. But I still fight him._

Ciel is asleep on Sebastian's side of the bed, curled up in an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of Sebastian's boxer shorts. He's wearing the collar that Sebastian had left him in—he always feels better collared when Sebastian is away—but other than that it could be any other night at their house.

Standing there at the foot of the bed, everything becomes as clear as glass. It's a role. He can do this. He can take on this persona, for Ciel. For his sub.

So beautiful, the strong creature curled up on those sheets. Sebastian wants him, in a visceral, bone-deep way that requires no translation, no thought. His cock is hard just thinking about that body under his, giving way to his lust. It's all he thinks about as he grabs him.

Ciel is powerful. His arms and legs are like battering rams, and his screams are hoarse and loud. Sebastian has never been more grateful that they live in the country.

_No matter what I do, he overpowers me. He doesn't smell or feel or sound like anyone in particular. Sometimes I'll get a glimpse of his hair, or his skin tone, but never much—he's fully clothed. He drains the fight out of me because it takes a while to get me to stop. But eventually I don't have any energy left to fight him, and he traps me. In a small space or on a bed or on the floor; it doesn't matter where because wherever we are, it's violent. It's going to be that way, whether the surface is hard or soft, familiar or unfamiliar. He doesn't care about me, or my pleasure. He just wants to fuck me, and come inside of my body. It's a single-minded, almost thoughtless goal. And I know. I know it from the minute he grabs me. I know._

It only takes one backhand to Ciel's cheek to take the initial wind out of his sails.

After that, he stops kicking, and Sebastian sits on his legs, then uses the collar around his throat to slam his upper body into alignment with his lower body. Flat on his back, he's easier to make still.

He's whining and crying and begging under his breath, please don't do this, and oh god no, no, don't do this to me, please, i'll give you whatever you want, and on and on, again and again, battering Sebastian's conscious mind with pleas. But Sebastian is too far gone. He's inside of this, and he isn't leaving. Not until it's done.

He takes a small knife from his pocket and uses it to slice Ciel's t-shirt open up the front. The glint of the blade and the noise of it tearing the material of his shirt makes Ciel start screaming again. By the time the shirt is split and Sebastian has ripped it off of Ciel's torso, Ciel is hiccuping sobs, and Sebastian presses the flat of the blade to Ciel's throat and slaps him again.

"Shut the fuck up," he growls.

"Please," Ciel sobs. "No."

He's pale. The collar is dark around his throat. Sebastian rips his underwear down around his thighs, not even allowing himself to look at the swollen erection that is proof of Ciel's pleasure. That doesn't, can't, matter right now. He drags the flat of the blade down Ciel's collarbone, nipples, and ribs, savoring every whimper and frightened twitch.

"Please don't hurt me."

He doesn't. He traces every inch of Ciel's body with the blade, never coming anywhere near pressing it to his flesh but allowing the illusion that he could, might, all the same.

He's so hard that it's painful.

_He spits in his hand. Slicks himself and—he fucks me. On my knees, on my belly, my face pushed into a pillow or concrete or gravel or grass or wherever he has me. He's rough, and unkind. He holds my arms and my legs and he snarls nasty things at me and he rapes me, and rapes me, and I hate him, even as I'm hard as a rock for him, even as I come over and over again with his dick pounding my prostate. He leaves me sticky and used and open and full of his come._

He puts his fingers in Ciel's hair. Pulls, tugs, down to the scalp, drags Ciel's shoulders off the bed with the force of it. Uses the leverage to roll Ciel over onto his stomach, uses his knee to shove at Ciel's knees, where he meets resistance.

"Spread your fucking legs," he says, dangerous and low, shoving again, meeting resistance again. So he presses the knife to Ciel's neck, to where the hair meets skin, and adds, "I'll slice your pretty skin open and fuck you anyway, so fucking do it. You might as well enjoy it in one piece, whore."

Ciel is trembling on the bed, his torso wracked with sobbing when he finally lets Sebastian shove his thighs apart. Sebastian has a bottle of already opened lubricant in his pocket—he can't go so far as to actually, physically hurt Ciel—and he gathers a handful of it silently, quickly, though he mimes the spitting for the sake of Ciel's fantasy, and all the while Ciel cries and begs no, no, no, and Sebastian ignores him as he thrashes.

"Bet I don't even need more than spit, huh?" he asks, roughly shoving Ciel's cheeks apart, roughly fingering his dry hole. "Sloppy little hole's probably always open wide, so many fucking cocks been in there, I bet. You fags can never keep it in your pants."

"Not like that," Ciel cries. "Please."

"Going to fuck your ass until you fucking bleed, slut."

Sebastian pushes him up halfway onto his knees, breathing so heavily, so far gone now that he almost can't see in the dark; it's all light pops and shadows and Ciel still fighting him, though weakly now.

He doesn't tease, doesn't wait. He unzips his pants, takes his cock out of his underwear, jacks himself a few times, and pushes his cock into Ciel's ass without warning, though he lets the lubricant hidden in his hand dribble down, lets it get ahead of him and alongside him as he roughly shoves inside. It's still going to hurt, but it'll hurt less as they go, and there won't be any real damage done.

Ciel sobs, arches up along the mattress, trying to escape with a soft, muffled no as Sebastian shoves his face into the pillow and slams the rest of the way inside.

"That's it. Shut that mouth and take my fucking cock. All you fags are good for, taking dick. You like it so much, then fucking enjoy it, huh? Yeah. Just like that. Fucking squeeze the come out of me. So fucking tight. Know you want it, don't try to fucking pretend you don't," he recites, overwhelmed, lost in the game, lost to the tight frightened flutter and clench of Ciel's ass around his cock, familiar and yet not at all so tonight.

Ciel is crying, trying to buck him off, but he's clearly exhausted from the game and the exertion, and Sebastian knows that he's hard and rocking against the sheets even know, his legs spread wide at their sides and his ass taking a pounding as Sebastian fucks him ruthlessly.

"Don't come in me, oh god, I'll do anything just—please don't—"

His back has gone bendy and weak and Sebastian wonders how long he's been sinking under. Noticing that rapidly pushes Sebastian towards climax—he doesn't know how long he's going to be able to maintain, not now that Ciel's body is giving him up, and he needs to finish this.

He draws out his orgasm when it hits, rises on his knees and fucks Ciel up the bed, roughly spreading those sweating, trembling cheeks and watching the base of his cock pulse as he fills Ciel with his come. He makes himself watch as he softens, the wide girth of his cock easing out of Ciel's swollen hole, followed by a low, wet gush as his come spills out.

"That's right," he breathes, shoving his fingers back inside, making Ciel whimper and clench around them. "Dirty, just like you."

After Ciel collapses weakly to the sheets, curling up into a ball around a pillow, Sebastian recognizes the cue. This is where, in the fantasy, Ciel is left alone with his shameful pleasure—the rapist doesn't talk after that, he just leaves. It's the hardest part to play out, strangely enough. Sebastian had intended to actually, truly leave—to get in the car, drive back to the hotel and give Ciel the remainder of the weekend to himself, but he can't bring himself to do it; Ciel hadn't specified a time frame for being left alone after, so Sebastian chalks his decision up to a technicality. He walks back down the road, gets the car, drives back to the house, kills the engine and sits there in the driver's seat, sticky and numb. The thing is, he can't move. He's frozen there, staring at the house as if he'd arrived at the wrong address.

But he isn't—it isn't—as bad as he'd thought it might be. It had been a difficult role to play, but he'd felt the tremors of release running through Ciel's body. He'd felt Ciel shudder and come. He'd felt how deeply, how quickly Ciel had gone under. How could he ever deny Ciel something that intense? But he is shaken. So he sits there for at least an hour, maybe more, feeling physically gross and emotionally wiped, until the porch lights come on and he watches Ciel, swathed in a robe and pajama pants, cross the lawn.

Something twists inside of his belly. How could he have left Ciel alone for as long as he has?

He's out of the car before he can think of what to say, and Ciel renders even that unnecessary by throwing himself into Sebastian's arms. He clings, arms and legs, and Sebastian stumbles back into the car under their combined weight and folds Ciel against him and buries his face in Ciel's neck.

"You should be inside," he says, barely aware of the words as they come out.

"You're shaking."

"I have never felt that taken apart in my entire life," Ciel exhales into his skin.

"I wish you could explain it to me," Sebastian replies.

"You were perfect."

"I feel—like a really unbalanced mix of things right now. I'm not sure if—if I could do that again."

"I think maybe I just needed to know that you could do it, period, " Ciel answers, pulling back to stare at him. "Does that make sense?"

"I don't know," Sebastian says. "Maybe. I told you that I would be anything you needed, didn't I?"

"You did," Ciel says, and he's smiling, and Sebastian can't stop from kissing him.

They share a shower so hot that they're as red as lobsters afterward, and the funny thing is—they both need the aftercare, so badly that they almost laugh because they don't know where to start.

Ciel says, "Come to bed?"

Sebastian is relieved to find that he'd changed the sheets, even down to the pillowcases.

"I keep waiting to feel worse than I do," Sebastian admits, curling his body around Ciel's as tightly as Ciel's comes around his. They're both shaken, and Ciel is still glassy-eyed and boneless.

"Me too, sort of?" Ciel says, clinging to him. "I—we talked about it in such detail, I mean the second you grabbed me I knew it was you."

"I didn't—like, treating you like that. But I liked what it did for you. I knew what it was doing, and it was enough to keep me in that place."

"You were amazing." Ciel turns his face to press a kiss to Sebastian's jaw. "God, you were—this sounds ridiculous, but you were better than the fantasy, if that's possible."

Sebastian can't help but flush at that, even though he still feels about a hundred miles away. "Do you think you might not dream that scenario anymore? Because you acted it out?"

"It's been getting better, the more we explored with the toys," Ciel says, burrowing deeper into his arms. "And I think this will make a difference. I just—think I needed the barriers moved, you know? I needed to know that we could do anything. Literally anything. And that you'd still love me and want me after, even if it were something really difficult."

"I love you and want you more every day, no matter what we do," Sebastian whispers, digging his fingers into Ciel's hair.

"I'm okay if you're okay, then," Ciel says, kissing him softly.

"I will be," Sebastian promises. "For you. Always."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm going to hell, at least you can do is review.<strong>


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